I'll always protect you
by Short on words
Summary: A protective 7-year-old Damon caring for his little brother on the night of a thunderstorm, and a grieving father who hasn't quite figured out how to be there for his boys. Please allow me to take you back in time and offer you a different angle on their story… AH


**In loving memory of Mara...**

**xXx**

It was a quiet summer's night in July when young Damon tip-toed out of his room. The clock had struck ten, two minutes ago and his father was still in his study. _The coast was clear_.

When the blue eyed six-year old opened the door at the end of the hallway, a part of him had expected her to be there. _His mom_. Dressed in her satin nightgown, patting the covers next to her ever thinning body. _She was not_.

Deep down he knew she wouldn't be there. Last night, she had fallen asleep, forever. His father had explained it to him and Damon had nodded, but forever seemed like such a long time…

The young boy stared at the empty four poster bed, the largest piece of furniture in his mother's tidy room. She'd been sleeping there, alone, for the past couple of months because she'd been ill, but she hadn't gotten better, and now she wasn't coming back. _Ever_.

Last week, when his father had been packing her suitcase, he'd told his sons that their mom would be visiting a family friend. And now all that was left, was that same filled suitcase and an empty room, and silence… a eerie, deafening silence.

The wooden floor cracked a little, as two bare feet gingerly made their way across the room. A soft 'woosh' resounded as 40 pounds sank onto the red, silk cushions, forcing the air out. The covers of the bed seemed to whisper as they was ruffled. Still it was too quiet.

There was no chuckling, as the little boy's sides were tickled, and there were no pillows being tossed around. Damon forced his cutest pout upon his face but his mother wasn't there to laugh or joke about it. _This was what it felt like to be lost._

When his father had told him the news, all Damon had done was nod. There had been no hug and no instant tears, his father's words refused to sink in. _His mother would not be coming home. How was that even possible? How could people be there one day, and not be there the next? _It's difficult to wrap your head around something that sounds so surreal.

Damon had heard about death and loss. He'd seen caskets and he'd seen graveyards_, but people could not really expect you to be ok with that, could they?_ If his mother was asleep, then why couldn't they wake her up? And who were the doctors to tell his family that she wouldn't.

'She's watching over you from above', one of the servants in the house had confided in him. Damon, however, was sure that if his mother was really up there, she'd toss down a note, in her most elegant hand-writing, to let him know she was ok. Heaven or no heaven, paper or no paper, she was creative, she'd find a way. Until then, the little blue eyed boy would wait for his mother to show up again and prove all the depressing adults wrong. A small smile spread across his adorable features, boy, would that be nice.

**xXx**

The eldest Salvatore was sitting upright in his chair, in front of his desk, contemplating the little annoying things about life. Like how grow-ups could be such overly dramatic hypocrites sometimes. Take for instance the expression 'there are no words', it's plain stupid, untrue even. There were always words, sometimes people were just too lazy or illiterate to find them.

Giuseppe almost burst out in fury, as an irritatingly chatty old lady gushed over the pastries at lunch that day. _There were _apparently_ no words_to describe how good those things tasted. _Delicious, delightful, delectable, appetizing, heavenly, exquisite. _His ability to listen to small talk was wearing thin these days and the woman was wrong. There were always words.

_Except today_. Devastated and anguished did not seem to cut it, when it came to describing what he was feeling. Turn out that sometimes even a rhetorician, like himself, could be rendered short on words under the right circumstances.

Here he was, not even two minutes into distracting himself and there she was again, right before his eyes, occupying his every thought. _Would that ever change? Would he ever recover?_ Because right now it felt like someone had taken a piece out of his heart and left a gaping wound, red and bleeding for the whole world to see.

People died every single day, and other people found a way to live, but how did they do it? What was the secret to filling the heart-wrenching void inside of his chest? How did you stop the bleeding?

**xXx**

It was a little before eleven in the evening and Damon was still staring out of his mother's window, waiting for a miracle. _They didn't seriously expect him to fall asleep tonight, did they_? _Maybe his father did. _Heavy footsteps announced his arrival as he walked through the hallway.

The young boy quickly made his way underneath the cover, enveloping himself in his mother's smell, that still lingered faintly on her pillow. He pressed his face close to the fabric and inhaled, trying to drawn in one last piece of her. It wasn't the same as hugging her, in fact the sensation didn't even come close, but if he wrapped the blanket tightly around his slim body, then he could pretend it was her and right now pretending was all he had left.

_Pretending_ that his mother was still taking a trip, _pretending_ that the suitcase wasn't hers, _pretending_ there were a million more hugs and kisses and tickling sessions to come. _Pretending_ she was still alive. _Pretending_ she was there.

"Damon?" a low but soft voice called out, breaking him out of his reverie.

The blue eyed little boy pressed himself closer into the mattress. He could not be pulled away from her, not tonight.

The wood cracked under expensive Italian shoes and heavy steps resounded through the room, breaking the silence. This was not the sound Damon's had been hoping for.

No lecture. What followed was the sound of shoelaces being untied before the oldest Salvatore gingerly sat down on the bed.

"Damon?"

The young boy stayed silent, shaking his head from left to right in denial. _He could not be taken away from her room. Not tonight._

A hesitant hand landed softly on the little boy's back, rubbing up and down just once, a little awkwardly. The little boy stayed still. It broke Giuseppe's heart seeing him like this. Damon had been running around the house like a lost puppy ever since his mother had been admitted to the hospital and now here they were, his playful little boy, a mere shell of himself. _But how could he possibly make this better_? He had no words for his grieving son, no words at all.

The silence stretched on right until Giuseppe started humming softly. A his last resort. But enough to catch his little boy's attention. His wife had been very fond of music and Giuseppe knew she'd passed that love onto his oldest boy.

As the bundle of blankets slowly rose, Giuseppe looked right into two tear-filled eyes. Confusion, anguish and loneliness were all wrapped up in one deep blue, disarming gaze.

"Come here," Giuseppe whispered, allowing the six-year-old to crawl onto his lap this once. Wet tears spotted his dark blue shirt and Giuseppe held his little boy close.

The two of them had never been good communicators so no words were exchanged and silence set over the room.

It was over ten minutes later, when Damon felt a lone cheek drop onto his forehead. Before he was even sure he felt it, though, Giuseppe had quickly wiped it away. The little boy pulled away just a little, to look his father in the eye.

A bit clumsily, the young boy struggled to get his handkerchief out of his back pocket. Putting it solemnly in his father's palm.

"It's ok to be sad daddy, forever is a very long time," he whispered hoarsely, before putting his head back in the crook of his father's neck.

* * *

Part two...

The wind was blowing wildly and relentlessly, whistling as it made its way through twigs and leaves. The previous days had been hot and dry and now it was as if hell broke loose in the air. Thunder seemed to battle with lighting. Flash. "_One elephant, two ele-"_ Boom. A shiver crept up Damon's spine as he realized the storm was nearing.

**xXx**

Giuseppe watched the weather anxiously. A minute ago a heavy branch had fallen in the middle of his well-maintained garden and now a vast amount of leaves were being ripped off by the wind. It looked like winter was coming in the middle of summer this year.

The force of nature frightened him in more ways than one but this was not the time to stand up and close the curtains, he had visitors to attend to. A brand new business transaction lay signed in front of him and now was time for small talk and alcohol. _He should be proud for sealing the deal_. If only his wife were by his side, she was so much better at pleasantries.

"How are you holding up, Gio?" Mathilda asked him amicably when her husband was visiting the men's room. Giuseppe had no reply for her.

Being the CEO of a prestigious multinational he could not falter. There were multiple opportunist out there, ready to step in at the first sign of weakness. The lady's husband was no exception.

Those sharks could smell blood, therefore he had no other option than to tape up the bruises and pack them neatly and tightly until one day it would be safe to consider the damage and lick his wounds. Today was not that day.

It had been eight months since his beloved wife had passed away and he felt completely and utterly alone in life. Incapable of dealing with grief and devastation, he pushed it all aside, boxing it up in the corner of his mind.

Routine, that was what got him through his days. A strict routine of work and paranoia, as he even feared his staff. They could not know he was faltering, they needed a strong and fearless man in charge. That was exactly what he gave them, an uncompromised front, a ferocious mask.

Cynical comments and disparaging complaints were all the staff received from him. 'Better to be feared than to be loved', that was how you stayed on top.

It killed him, it nearly broke him. The frightened stares and the unkind gossip. When his wife had left she'd taken everything along with her, all the warmth and sympathy anyone had ever showed him. Now his days were empty and his night were cold. Machiavelli never mentioned how cruel and devastating a faith that was. _He wanted his money back._

The only two people left to care were his two young boys, Damon and Stefan. When the servants were occupied he often looked for them as they were the only ones who could make him feel anything.

One evening he'd even taken young Damon to the waterside, where he knew his late wife used to bring him. There had been no fireworks and no connection though, just two big, blue, haunting eyes pleading with the stars to 'please, pleeeeaaaase send his mother back to him'. He'd heard him talking in his sleep before, Damon was taking his mother's passing hardest of all.

"You still have me, son," Giuseppe had told him softly, in a failed attempt to comfort him. The little boy had promptly replied that 'he'd rather have his mom'. There had been no malice in his voice, it had merely been an genuine truth.

That didn't mean it hadn't shattered his father's heart of course, the comment had burned Giuseppe and haunted him for months to come. He couldn't put the young boy's words in the right perspective and his wife wasn't there to salvage the situation like she usually would. It drew Giuseppe closer to Stefan, since his three-year-old was too young to understand or to comment.

Half an hour before dinner, whenever the kitchen was in full swing, Giuseppe would take his youngest into the study and watch him play. In those few precious moments he wasn't the monster people thought he was. He was just a father, secretly craving for a moment of joy and playfulness.

The world stopped whenever they would race the miniature cars between his papers, neither of them caring which ones got fumbled in the process. Giuseppe lived for those fleeting minutes, where they were just father and son, the only fraction of his day where he could just let go and be part of something warm and genuine.

No one knew there was a softer, 'weaker' side to Giuseppe and his bubbly, little, three-year-old could hardly blow the whistle on him. He loved his little boy with whole of his heart and harbored their shared moments. Yet those moments were never just unadulterated happiness. No matter how hard he tried, he could never quite forsake the guilt he felt at dinner afterwards where two green eyes beamed up at him while two blue ones avoided him like the plague.

_Why did things always have to be so difficult with Damon?_

_Damon_. Giuseppe hoped he wasn't too scared with the weather wreaking havoc on everything and anything within its reach. Part of him wanted to go upstairs and comfort his oldest boy, _but what would mister and misses Gringer think? Feelings are weakness, _he told himself firmly. He straightened his suit and ensured 'Mathilda' that he was doing 'very well'.

"Excuse me, allow me to check if I closed my window properly," he told misses Gringer, standing up from his seat.

"I can do it sir," one of his servants suggested.

"You better get miss Gringer some more coffee, her cup in almost empty in case you hadn't noticed," he brushed the comment off with yet another snide remark.

**xXx**

Once upstairs he acted fast, getting the radio from the study and turning the volume down as a precaution. He put in the last tape his wife had ever bought "Automatic for the people" by R.E.M. and a breath he'd been holding escaped his lips. Two small knocks broke the silence, by the time Damon opened his door, his father was already downstairs.

"Turned out the window was closed after all," he told his guests with a fake smile.

**xXx**

"_Hey kids rock and roll nobody tell you were to go baby_-," zoom, zoom, zoom, "_and everybody hurts_, _sometimes everybody_-" zoom, zoom "_If you believe, they put a man on the moon, man on the m_-"

A deep calming breath rushed out of Damon's lungs as he had finally found the first notes of 'Nightswimming'. _All was right again in the world_. No fear could capture him and no noise could reach him as he closed his eyes and was reunited with his mom again. This was their song and it would always be his safe haven.

**xXx**

When the song was played out, the radio zoomed silently as pressed the 'rewind' button. A soft whimper broke the silence and when Damon opened his door it revealed a sobbing toddler, holding out his arms. Damon picked him up instantly and put the young boy on his lap.

"Did the thunder wake you up, buddy?" Damon asked sweetly. The three-year-old just stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide and innocent. His small lower lip was quivering and Damon held him close. "Don't be scared buddy, I will _always_ protect you," Damon promised.

In moments like this he really pitied his younger brother. Stefan had never really known his mother. Sometimes Damon wondered if he even remembered her.

"Do you want to stay here for a while?" he suggested. Little Stefan nodded violently, nestling himself closer into Damon's lap. There was no verbal response however, Stefan rarely talked when he was upset, not that it mattered, Damon understood.

Five minutes later they were both tucked it under the covers, the radio playing in the background on the small blue nightstand.

"Mom-my," Stefan uttered suddenly, surprising Damon. A little started he turned his little brother around so they were facing each other.

"You remember her? You miss mommy?" Damon asked him, instantly wide awake.

Stefan nodded his head determinately, two times in a row.

"I miss her too!" Damon told him whole heartedly and maybe a tat too enthusiastic. He was just happy not to be the only one to remember her. Sometimes it felt that way though, like his mother had been merely a dream. The servants in the house were prohibited from speaking about her and he felt like his father could barely manage saying her name out loud.

Some days he felt like she had never really existed, since he couldn't talk about her with anyone. Yet here his little brother was, clearly acknowledging that he knew about the void in their life.

_"If you feel like you're alone__  
no, no, no, you're not alone"_

R.E.M. turned out to be right.

"Come here," Damon urged, pulling Stefan closer so the young boy's back touched his chest. "You know what mommy would do now?"

The youngest Salvatore shook his head slowly fumbling Damon's shirt with the back of his head.

"She would hold you, just like this," he explained, "and then she would comb your hair with her fingers until you forgot all about the storm," he continued.

"She would tell you about the young rabbits, about how they are all cuddling close together under the ground right now and she would tell you about the horses that rest warm and save in the stables. If it would get really bad she would make you some hot chocolate milk and make some tea for herself…" Damon remembered, happily sharing his fondest memories with Stefan.

"… Has she ever read you 'guess how much I love you'?... No? … Well that's fine I could tell you by heart anyway. The story starts with Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed. He held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare's very long ears. He wanted to be sure that Big Nutbrown Hare was listening…" Damon started telling his favorite story.

"… So then he lay down close by and whispered with a smile, "I love you right up to the moon - AND BACK," he concluded with a smile. Even a thousand times of repetition could not diminished how much he adored the ending. Stefan was no longer awake to hear it, however, so Damon tucked him in again, taking a second blanket for himself, so he wouldn't accidentally steal Stefan's at night.

**xXx**

"_Heartless, and labeled. Super citizen, super achiever_" mocked the radio as Giuseppe turned it down. He'd never been a fan of R.E.M. but it since his wife loved the band, he couldn't throw the tapes out. _Damon loved them too_.

_Damon_. His oldest boy lay peacefully asleep, her arm protectively draped over the little toddler next to him. Giuseppe picked Stefan up as gingerly as he could. Carrying him carefully to the room next door before tucking him in.

When he returned he sat by Damon's side for a while, watching him sleep. It pained him how he had to steal moments like this, but often it felt like there was no other way. He tried, he did try, giving the boy's shoulder a squeeze where he needed a hug, uttering a sentence of encouragement where he needed a conversation, offering him his mother's radio where he had needed… his father.

_Maybe one day things would change and he could give it all…_

"I love you son," Giuseppe vowed truthfully before leaving the room.

_"Strength and courage overrides__  
the privileged and weary eyes,"_

whispered the radio in the distance as the taped was almost played out.

**xXx**

**This one-shot was of course part of Scars Beneath the Surface... Thank you for reading**


End file.
